


A True Biography

by Owl_by_Night



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owl_by_Night/pseuds/Owl_by_Night
Summary: John Segundus tries to complete his biography of Jonathan Strange but finds the writing difficult.  Fortunately, he has someone to help.





	

It is his own ineloquence that frustrates him. The sensation that if only he were a better writer (for he has never claimed to be a writer at all) he should somehow hit upon the words that would at once explain what he was describing and make (subtly, coaxing his reader into agreement without them being aware of crude persuasion) the point that he wishes to make. He crosses out his latest attempt in frustration. He would far rather crumple the sheet of paper between his hands and throw it across the room in childish petulance, but he is conscious of the need to save paper. With his candle burning low, he begins again.   
He is interrupted at length by the quiet tapping at his door. Honeyfoot, dressed for bed, is peering round the door at him with an expression both exasperated and fond.   
"I wondered when you did not come to bed," he says, "I half hoped to find you asleep at your desk rather than still working."   
"It will not work," Segundus says, dropping his quill onto the desk and burying his face in his hands. His eyes are tired and sore: it is a relief to close them.   
"Oh lad," Honeyfoot says with a sigh, "nor will it work with you up till all hours, scribbling away. I dare say you will have given yourself the headache tomorrow and then not be fit to do anything."   
"I am sorry." Segundus mumbles, feeling overwhelmingly tired all at once.   
"It is for your own sake that I worry."   
"I shall do well enough."   
Honeyfoot tuts at him. "This staying up all night, working yourself half to death: it must stop lad. I am sure it is all very well for a bachelor, living alone with no one to tell him otherwise, but not for you."   
There are words he could have said, references to the fact that he is living with the Honeyfoots now and has been for several months. That it is their candles and paper he is using. That it is Honeyfoot's household he risks disturbing and the school they run together that will suffer if he is too tired to teach well tomorrow. Honeyfoot says none of it, only looks at him with his familiar, worried expression.   
"So tell me," he says, "what is it that you cannot write?"   
Segundus holds out a page of closely written text in a sharp, precise hand. It is from Colonel Grant, describing the work of Jonathan Strange in the peninsula. The things he has done seem dark and terrible now: raising souls from the grave, corpses that could not be made dead again. It is the very thing that he had hoped to avoid describing in rescuing Strange's reputation, but yet he has also committed himself to writing a true and accurate biography.   
Honeyfoot reads in silence, and Segundus watches him, watches the play of candlelight over his face with its furrowed brow. His face is given to smiling and a frown of concentration is a rare look for him. Segundus values the concentration which Honeyfoot gives the letter, values the good sense which he knows will follow.   
"Hmmm..." Honeyfoot says at last, "so your difficulty is in how to present your argument is it? In justifying what was done."   
"Yes. It seems such a horrific thing in blunt text, and yet I imagine... are not the necessities of war always terrible? Is it so very different? I imagine Grant could describe other acts just as terrible."   
"Yes."  
"But how to put it? To enlist sympathy for it..."   
"Well how does the Colonel put it?"  
"I'm sorry?"  
"Well, Colonel Grant saw the magic done, yet he remained Strange's friend. Can you not ask him why, ask him for his opinion of it as a soldier rather than this description of fact? He must have had his reasons to justify it and the opinion of a military man must hold weight."   
"I believe... I believe that some of Grant's reasons may not have been entirely publishable."   
He finds himself fighting a blush, which is ridiculous. Segundus is not a fool, and he wonders if Grant realises how much he betrays himself in text. His love of Jonathan Strange shines through whenever he speaks of him, at least to Segundus, who is in some ways an expert on such hidden desires. He wonder sometimes, looking at Grant and Mrs Strange, whether she knew. Whether their staunch defence of each other comes in part from love of the same man. He wonders if she was like Mrs Honeyfoot: willing to turn a blind eye to her husband's fancy. Willing to accept another man into her house, to fuss over him and feed him, and let her husband be free to do what makes him happiest so long as it does not interfere with the running of her household. None of the characters in his biography seem tame enough for such domestic harmony but still, he wonders.   
He is woolgathering, and Honeyfoot is watching him.   
"Come to bed, lad," he says, and Segundus feels no need to protest, "in the morning you can write to Colonel Grant."  
"Yes, I shall. Thank you. I have been a fool to keep working on it when I should have asked for your good advice."   
Honeyfoot beams at him. He has always been very proud of Segundus' scholarly efforts and similarly pleased to be asked for his opinion. Segundus thinks he does not value himself highly enough.   
"And when you have written your letter I think you should call the rest of the day a holiday."   
"I cannot possibly..."  
"A holiday is what you need and what I intend to give you. We shall go out for a walk, just the two of us, and see if some sunshine and fresh air will set you to rights. And then, I think, we shall go to York. We shall consult the booksellers and dine out in the evening."   
"It does sound a deal more pleasant than staying here. I have been in this room too long."   
"It is the plan I have set upon. I was thinking of it, when I was waiting for you to retire."   
"I did not mean for you to stay awake, waiting for me."   
"I know, but I find then when I go to bed alone and have only my own thoughts for company it is very difficult not to hope that you might join me. I have grown used to you." Honeyfoot smiles at him and Segundus cannot help reaching out, drawing Honeyfoot near to him and leaning against his side. Honeyfoot's hand rests in his hair.   
"Come to bed," he says again, and Segundus goes.


End file.
